


Cemetery

by wheel_pen



Series: Lucy [19]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Episode 3x19 "Memoria", F/M, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 12:43:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex finally realizes what happened to Julian, and takes his son Damian on a trip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cemetery

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Lucy, my original character, is Clark’s cousin on the Kent side. Although human she may have some strange psychic powers and definitely has some issues in her past. She’s having a tough time with her mom and goes to live with Jonathan and Martha for a while. She and Lex form a relationship.
> 
> 2\. In my world, Lex eventually becomes President. And his staff is from The West Wing. 
> 
> 3\. I started writing this series during the third season of Smallville, so it diverges from canon then or earlier.
> 
> 4\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

He was crying again. It was a G-d-awful sound, a desperate sort of wailing that filled his ears and flooded his brain and left him unable to think about anything else, except somehow getting him to shut the h—l up. It was an uncharitable thought, he knew—unworthy of someone who was supposed to love this infant—but it was the truth. Lex stared down at the crib, watching the baby as he flailed his little fists and feet, his face deep red, real tears coursing down his fat cheeks, feeling at once utterly helpless and incredibly furious. How could such a small thing _make_ that kind of an all-consuming din?

The howls sounded almost accusatory to Lex, as if there were something he should be doing but wasn’t, as if there were something he should _know_ to do but didn’t. Weren’t there people who were supposed to attend to him when he cried like that? Weren’t there monitors and intercoms that summoned paid professionals, or other family members? How was anyone, professional or not, supposed to know what this little creature wanted so badly, anyway? He could be tired, hungry, wet, bored, afraid, lonely... cold, even. They said in a normally heated house his little bunny suit would be enough for him, but Lex always thought he looked cold anyway. The large house was so drafty, Lex wouldn’t be surprised if there was an unwanted breeze in the nursery from somewhere—

“Lex! What are you doing?”

Lex whirled away from the crib to see his father outlined in the nursery doorway, the light from the hall cutting across the dim room like a spotlight. “Nothing,” Lex assured him quickly, knowing his voice sounded unsteady. “He’s, um—“ He gestured vaguely back towards the crib. “He’s crying again.”

“Well, that’s what babies _do_ , Lex,” Lionel replied, slightly patronizing, as he crossed the deep blue carpeting. Lex backed away a little bit, giving his father room to gently scoop the infant up into his arms. The child quieted almost instantly, as soon as he was held and wrapped in a cutesy blanket. _See,_ Lex thought petulantly, _he_ was _cold_.

“Yes, you just wanted a little attention, didn’t you?” Lionel asked the little bundle rhetorically, and Lex stifled a shudder. His mind had already been warped by the idea of his father knowing how to handle a baby, how to _change diapers_ of all things—“Well, I’ve done it before, Lex,” was his oh-so-bland comment on that issue, as if it were some lifelong skill one either never learned or never forgot. Lex didn’t know if he could, additionally, cope with the almost-not-quite baby-talk his father engaged in with the newest member of the Luthor family. It was just... _creepy_.

Lionel turned towards his oldest son expectantly. “Do you want to hold him, Lex?” he offered, carefully, the way one might speak to a nervous animal.

“I, um...” Lex swallowed hard. He didn’t want to look weak in front of his father—but he had a feeling that _retreat_ would at least cut his losses more than staying in the nursery and trying to hold the infant. “I, um, have some... thing I need to do,” he finished quickly, fleeing guiltily from the room.

Lionel raised an eyebrow at his son’s behavior, then turned to look down at the baby on his shoulder. “Your father’s a little skittish, isn’t he, Damian?” he asked his grandson, although the child’s eyes were already closed. “Well, fortunately, your grandfather is just a little older and wiser, so feel free to relax...”

“Corrupting him already?” Lucy asked archly, wandering into the nursery. She held her arms out and Lionel handed the child over with a surprising amount of reluctance. “Oh, yes, you’re my _good_ baby, aren’t you, sweetie?” There was nothing ‘almost-not-quite’ about Lucy’s brand of baby-talk, and Lionel rolled his eyes.

“Honestly, how is the child going to learn proper English when you continue to speak to him in that manner?” he demanded, for perhaps the fifth time that week.

“That’s just what Lex says,” Lucy pointed out, thoroughly undeterred by either Luthor’s opinion. Her expression turned more serious and she reached around Lionel to snap the baby monitor off with one hand. “I saw Lex heading down the back stairs, white as a sheet,” she confided, whispering despite the lack of surveillance. “What happened?”

Lionel waved her off. “Lex just isn’t used to babies yet,” he assured the young woman. “You know he had a brother... Julian.” The name was still a little bitter on Lionel’s lips. “Lex’s mother wasn’t well after Julian was born, and I’m afraid the nurse at the time was rather strict with Lex about the baby—wouldn’t let him hold Julian very often, that sort of thing. It’s no wonder that he’s still a little... uncomfortable around them.”

Lucy nodded sagely. “Yes... That, and the fact that he accidentally smothered Julian with a sheet.”

Lionel froze, felt as though even his heart stopped beating for a moment. Lucy’s demeanor did not seem to change, however, and he forced an equal level of normality into his voice as he replied, “He told you about that, did he?”

Lucy gave him a small, rueful smile and rubbed Damian’s back gently. “Not in so many words,” she admitted. But she knew it just the same.

Seeing that Damian appeared to be fast asleep, she laid him back down in his crib and draped the blanket over the changing table. Lionel watched her movements carefully, but the girl could be surprisingly good at concealing her true feelings on occasion. “It... _was_ an accident, then?” he finally said, hating how much he had to reveal with the question.

Her green eyes were bright, even in the shadows of the room. “It wasn’t his intention,” Lucy confirmed quietly. “He was crying. Lex thought maybe he was cold...”

Lionel let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and he almost despised the girl for being there to see it, for being so certain about an event she could only witness second-hand. For being so calm about a horror he honestly hoped she never experienced herself. “I warned you that he wasn’t ready to have children,” he reminded her, a little harshly.

As usual she didn’t let his tone phase her. “You warned me a little too late,” she pointed out, smirking. “And I wouldn’t have listened to _you_ , anyway.” Lucy leaned back over the crib, watching her son sleep peacefully. “Lex will be fine. It will just take him a little while,” she decided firmly, turning towards the door. “Turn the monitor back on, before you leave.”

 

******

 

_A few years later…_

“Where are we going, Daddy?”

“The cemetery.”

It was dark out, and Damian was tired and cold, but he knew better than to complain. There was a look in his daddy’s eyes that wasn’t quite right, and he was a little scared. He wanted to be back home with Mommy, even if it _was_ bathtime.

They had been driving for a long time now, Damian thought. He didn’t think it would take that long to get anywhere in Smallville. They were on a big road now, a highway with lots of other cars, and when he looked out the window he could see the lights of the skyscrapers of Metropolis.

Metropolis was a long way from home. Damian got even more scared. Did Mommy know where they were? Wouldn’t she be mad that it was past his bedtime, and he wasn’t home yet?

“Daddy—“ he began in a small voice.

His father glanced at him, and there was still that look in his eyes, like he wasn’t really seeing Damian. “We’re almost there.” The boy was not reassured by his tone of voice.

His father seemed to know exactly where he was going, but Damian didn’t recognize anything, especially at night. Finally they stopped beside a high stone wall with an iron gate. Damian couldn’t read the words ‘Metropolis Memorial Grounds’ above the gate, but he could see the tombstones and mausoleums beyond it.

“Come on,” his father told him, getting out of the car. Damian stayed put. He wasn’t going into a cemetery at night. His father walked around the car and opened his door. “Come on, Damian,” he coaxed, holding out his hand. “It’ll be alright.”

Reluctantly Damian unbuckled his seatbelt and slid out of the car. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground that melted when they stepped on it, and he shivered. His father had grabbed a coat for him from the closet beside the door before they left, but it was too light for this weather. Holding Damian’s hand firmly, his father pushed the gate open and it squeaked on rusty hinges. Damian hung back as his father stepped onto the brown grass.

“Daddy.” Damian knew he was supposed to whisper. “Aren’t there ghosts in the cema—ceme—in here?”

His father looked down at him seriously. “Yes, there are,” he replied, and Damian was shocked that, like most grown-ups, his daddy wasn’t going to tell him ghosts were only make-believe. “But you’re with Lex Luthor, and they won’t hurt you. They’re afraid of me.”

Damian understood how the ghosts felt. His daddy wasn’t _really_ scary, most of the time—he wasn’t nearly as scary as his Grandpa Luthor, with his lion’s mane and sharp teeth—but when Daddy got angry at someone he could look at them the way Damian sometimes looked at the ants on the patio. Like he could squash them any time he wanted. The ghosts would stay away.

His father walked on the side with the tombstones, and Damian walked on the side with the stone wall, but he could still see the marble blocks and statues rising out of the snowy ground, casting strange shadows in the moonlight. Everything was so still and quiet, like any second something horrible was going to leap out and grab them. Damian understood that there were names and dates carved on all the stones, the names of the dead people who were buried under them. But he didn’t understand _why_ someone would want to take all this space—much bigger than the park they went to in Smallville—and put dead people in it. It was just creepy.

He squeezed his father’s hand and he looked down at him with a little smile that made Damian feel a tiny bit better. They seemed to walk for a long time before they finally reached a huge stone block, taller even than his daddy, black and terrible and filling his vision.

His father pointed up at the largest word carved into the dark marble. “Do you know what that says?” Damian shook his head without really looking. He didn’t want to look at it anymore. His father picked him up, his grip cool but steady, and held the boy closer to the shiny black stone. “It says ‘Luthor.’ That’s our name. This is our family crypt.”

Damian didn’t know what a ‘crypt’ was, but if it was a giant black stone block in a park full of dead people, he didn’t like it. His father moved him down to one end, where there were more words carved in smaller letters. “This is the name of your great-grandfather. Your Grandpa Luthor’s father. He died before you were born,” his daddy explained. “And this is the name of your great-grandmother, your Grandpa Luthor’s mother. She died when you were just a baby.” He seemed a little sad as he traced one of the letters with his hand.

His father walked to the next set of names. “This is your grandmother,” he said, and his voice sounded funny to Damian, kind of... thick, like he was talking through peanut butter. “Lillian Luthor. My mother.”

Damian felt like he should say something. “She died?”

His father nodded but didn’t look at him. “She died when I was a boy. Older than you. Caroline is your Grandpa Luthor’s second wife.” Damian remembered Caroline. She had blond hair and smelled like fancy flowers, and she always slipped him a piece of hard candy when his mommy wasn’t looking.

His father looked at another name, one that was carved in smaller letters than the others. “You remember your Uncle Lucas?”

Damian was confused. “He died?” Damian remembered Uncle Lucas bringing him plastic swords and Chinese money, and getting yelled at by Grandpa Luthor after he almost set the Christmas tree on fire. He was funny.

His father smiled a little bit. “No, he’s alive. Though sometimes I wonder how he manages it.” Damian didn’t understand that. “I meant, your Uncle Lucas is my brother. This”—he pointed at the new name—“was another brother of mine. Julian.” His father swallowed hard. “He died when he was just a baby.”

“Oh.” It was all Damian could think of to say.

His father sat down on someone else’s tombstone, across from the family crypt, and put Damian on his lap, wrapping his arms around him to keep him warm. “Your grandmother, Lillian... she killed him. She smothered him with a pillow when he was asleep in his crib.”

Damian’s eyes went wide. Hurting people was _bad_. And you had to be especially careful with _babies_. That’s what everyone always told him before he was allowed to play with Baby Elizabeth. That’s what everyone told him about the new baby his mommy and daddy were having. “That was _bad_ ,” he remarked firmly.

His father smiled a little and ran his fingers through Damian’s dark hair. “Yes, that was bad,” he agreed. “She shouldn’t have done that. But she was sick.” Damian supposed there was some logic to that. After all, his mommy didn’t get mad at him for being grumpy when _he_ was sick. But he understood, vaguely, that the thing his grandmother had done was much worse than that. It scared him, to think of grown-ups doing such bad things, especially to a baby who couldn’t run away or do anything to stop them...

Suddenly his father’s arms tightened around him, and he leaned down to whisper fiercely in Damian’s ear. “Damian, I know that you won’t understand this yet, but—I want you to know that I will _never_ stop loving you, no matter what you do.” His father’s voice was shaking, with the cold he supposed. “Even if you did something really bad, I would _never_ stop loving you. No matter what.”

“I didn’t do anything bad,” Damian asserted hastily. “Did I?” Maybe this was all supposed to be a punishment for something.

“No, you didn’t do anything bad,” his father assured him. “But even if you did, I would still love you. Do you understand?” He held Damian away a bit, so he could look into his dark eyes.

Damian didn’t understand, at least not all of it. But he understood some things. “I love you, too, Daddy,” he replied, and his father pulled him close for a hug.

 

“Lex? Is that you, son?” His father’s voice was tightly controlled and Lex stiffened out of habit.

“Yes, it’s me, Dad,” he answered, not turning around.

“Do you have Damian there with you, by any chance?” Lionel spoke in the tone of false friendliness used by hostage negotiators.

“Say hi to your Grandpa Luthor,” Lex whispered to the four-year-old, who peeped over his shoulder and waved.

“Hi, Grandpa,” he called across the dark stones.

The older man stopped beside them. “Hello, there, Damian,” he said cheerfully, bending down a bit to look the boy in the eye. “I guess you’ve had an adventure tonight, right?” Damian nodded. That was for sure. Lionel reached for him. “Well, why don’t we all go back to the car, and go back home now? It’s past your bedtime, after all.”

“I didn’t kill Julian,” Lex announced suddenly, staring at the name on the black marble as if he could see through it.

Lionel glanced uncertainly at the boy in his arms. “Damian, do you see the gate over there?” he asked, pointing the child in the direction they’d come. “The man standing beside it works for me. He’ll put you in the car, and in a few minutes your father and I will be there, and we’ll all go home, alright?” Damian nodded, but when Lionel set him on the ground, he didn’t move. Lionel began get impatient, glancing between his brooding son and his wide-eyed grandson. “Go on, now, Damian,” he insisted, gesturing towards the gate.

The boy looked at the gate, which was all the way across the sea of stones and monuments, then turned back to his grandfather. “Can’t go alone,” he replied stubbornly. “There’s ghosts.”

Lionel rolled his eyes. Of all the times to start in with childish fantasies. “There is _no such thing_ as ghosts, Damian,” he told the boy, with an air of great authority.

“Daddy said there’s ghosts.” Lex had to smile a little at the boundless faith in the boy’s tone.

Lionel turned to his son with an exasperated glance, then raised his voice and waved his arm to signal the assistant by the gate. He felt he lost only a _small_ amount of dignity in doing so. Lex knew the man jogging over to them was that weasel Dominic before he even heard his whiny, British-accented voice. “How can I help, Mr. Luthor?” he asked obsequiously.

“Take the boy back to the car, and wait for us,” Lionel told him shortly, and Dominic swung his arms in an attempt to herd Damian in the proper direction, without actually touching him. Because who knew _what_ the boy might have on his hands.

“Damian,” Lex called, before they had gotten too far. The child stopped in his tracks and Lex turned to face him with a half-smile. “You’d better run, because the ghosts aren’t scared of _him_.” Damian nodded his understanding and took off like a shot, Dominic shouting after him.

Lionel made sure they got to the gate, then sat down on the monument beside Lex. They were silent for a moment, then Lex told him flatly, “It was Mom. I walked in on her.”

Lionel took a deep breath. “Yes. I know,” he exhaled.

Lex looked at him sharply. He’d been expecting an argument. “How do you know?” he demanded.

His father looked as though he were about to tell him, then changed his mind. “It’s not important.”

“How _long_ have you known?”

Lionel sighed and stared at the crypt. “A few months.”

Ah. Lex _thought_ his father had been acting... _odd_ towards him lately. But between two impending births, the usual business challenges, and Lex’s recent bout of panic attacks, he had figured there were already plenty of reasons why.

“And you?” Lionel continued, trying to sound as though they were discussing something perfectly ordinary. “When did you... make this discovery?”

“Tonight.” Lex looked down at his hands and felt like he should have something in them. A bottle of Scotch would be nice. “I remembered it. When I saw Caroline standing over Elizabeth’s crib it all—it came back.”

Lionel gave a humorless chuckle. “No wonder she looked so upset when she came out of the nursery. You gave her quite a scare.”

“She didn’t want to have any more children.” Lionel realized Lex was talking about his mother again. “She didn’t want any more children to be treated like _you_ treated _me_.” Lionel remembered that conversation. So that _had_ been Lex, listening outside the door, after all.

“Lex,” he began painfully, “your mother was... very ill, and—“

“Don’t try to blame this on anyone but yourself,” Lex interrupted angrily.

“You _said_ you did it,” Lionel reminded him through gritted teeth. “I _found_ you in the nursery, leaning over the crib. What was I supposed to think?”

“I _wanted_ you to think I’d done it,” Lex confirmed. “I wanted it so badly, I convinced myself...”

“But _why_ , Lex?” Lionel demanded, facing him. Lex kept staring straight ahead. “You wanted to protect your mother. Fine. But she needed _help_ , Lex—“

Lex turned to him, eyes blazing from his pale face, and Lionel drew back a bit, startled. “You wouldn’t have gotten her _help_ ,” he spat. “You would have cut her off, sent her to jail, ruined her family and all her friends and Julian would _still_ be dead.” He faced the crypt again. “But I was your only heir. I knew you wouldn’t hurt _me_. Even if whatever you felt for me that you _called_ love, turned to hate.”

“Lex, I don’t—I never—“ Lionel’s protests sounded weak to his own ears, so he stopped.

“I remember my twelfth birthday party,” Lex said suddenly, stuffing his fidgeting hands into his coat pockets. “Mom had the dining room all decorated, the table loaded with food, a huge pile of presents on the window seat. And nobody came.” Lionel sighed and started to speak, but Lex cut him off. “You came home and found me sobbing, humiliated, feeling sorry for myself. But you didn’t tell me that Luthors didn’t cry, or that it was all my fault for behaving badly to the people I called my friends. Instead you told me that they were just jealous. You gave me that lead box and told me the story of St. George and the dragon and said that I should put all my fears and doubts inside that box and lock them away, like St. George had. You hugged me and said it was going to be all right.” Lex swallowed around the lump in his throat. “After Julian died you never hugged me again. Unless you were posing for the cameras. You stopped loving me, even in your own way that my mother already thought was harmful. Although I guess you thought you had a pretty good reason.”

There was a long, long moment of silence. When Lucy had first told him about her vision, Lionel hadn’t wanted to believe her... but he did, in the end, because she had never been wrong yet about something she had told him. He hadn’t understood it—the particular motivations, the timing, all the details he had wanted to know to somehow pin the horror down in his mind, instead of letting it drift around, dark and amorphous, like the black veil Lillian had worn over her face when they put the tiny coffin behind the marble wall he stared at. She wasn’t well, he knew that, not physically _or_ mentally; to him that was actually _proof_ of how much he had truly loved her, because there were many, many other women he could have married who were just as beautiful, just as intelligent, just as wealthy, but stronger and more suited to the dynasty he wanted to create. He had slept with most of them—but he had only married one. He had only had children with one. Okay, _two_ , technically, if you counted Rachel Dunleavy, but Lucas certainly hadn’t been _planned_.

Caroline was different. Still tactful yet firm in her honesty, the way Lillian had been at the beginning of their marriage at least, but stronger, more sure of herself. Less starry-eyed. Caroline and Elizabeth were a fresh start for him. A second chance. Lionel would never allow his daughter to be weak, to be unprepared for the cruelties and jealousies of the world, but—perhaps there were things he could do differently. He had been so eager to have a son, to train up an heir to the empire he hoped to create, that he hadn’t noticed how much Lex took after his mother—or at least, he hadn’t realized how deeply the similarities ran, how permanently etched they were. Lex was volatile, stubborn, too sensitive, too emotional. Strong, yes, but so quick to feel hurt, so quick to cause an equal or greater amount of hurt. And too proud to hide his plans under the proper layers of ignorance and misdirection. These things, at least, he could watch for in his daughter. But perhaps... perhaps he would manage to keep her closer than he had Lex.

“I miss her,” Lex said into the darkness, startling Lionel out of his thoughts. He was staring straight at Lillian’s name, as if his vision could bore a hole right through the wall. “I miss her anyway.”

He sniffed, and Lionel looked over at him, shocked by the thought of Lex crying. He hadn’t seen his son cry since he was a child, not unless he was under some chemical influence anyway. But there were the tears, glittering silver in the moonlight. Lionel felt a hot prickle in his own eyes but ignored it, lifting an arm awkwardly around his son’s shoulders. As soon as it was in place, however, it felt _right_ , and he squeezed. There was a moment of resistance, just a moment, and then Lex leaned into him, burying his face against his father’s shoulder. “Lex, I—“ He broke off, not knowing how he intended to finish the sentence. “It’ll be all right,” he tried instead, and even though he thought the words were meaningless, bordering on stupid, it felt good to say them.

After a moment Lex pulled away, sniffing and quickly wiping his face off with his sleeve. “Lucy must be freaked,” he decided with a little smirk, yanking his cell phone out of his pocket. Fifteen messages in two hours, the screen told him when he turned it back on. He pushed the button to speed-dial the castle in Smallville and the phone was picked up after the first ring.

“ _Lex_?” Lucy sounded frantic, and Lex knew he’d be feeling guilty about that all the way home. She didn’t need any more stress right now, so close to her due date.

“Yeah, it’s me, I’m fine,” he reassured her, although he imagined she was not reassured at all. “Damian’s fine. Or, rather, he’s with Dominic, so he’s probably being traumatized for life as we speak...” Lionel rolled his eyes behind Lex.

_“Your father’s there?”_

Lex paused before he answered. “Yeah. My father’s here.” His tone was strange enough to make Lionel glance over at him, but the older man couldn’t decipher it. “We’re starting home soon.”

_“Okay.”_ He knew he wasn’t going to get off that easily, but his wife was smart enough to wait until he was trapped in front of her before she started to give him the beating he deserved, for taking off in the night with their son. _“I love you.”_

“I love you, too.” Lex hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket, turning to his father. Lionel stood stiffly and glanced once more at the marble monument before them. He expected that the next name to be carved on it would be his own. Though with Lucas’s lifestyle he wasn’t too shabby of a candidate either. He hoped he would at least live to see Elizabeth grow up, to see if she turned out like Lex. Although perhaps Lex hadn’t been pushed as far away as he’d feared.

“Ready to go?” Lionel asked, business-like. Lex nodded firmly, as if the cemetery were a perfectly ordinary place to be visiting late at night. They started walking back along the path beside the stone wall, which had seemed so much longer earlier in the evening when Lex could only walk at the pace of a four-year-old.

As they approached the gate Lex saw the limo parked just outside it, in front of his own Porsche. He would have someone else drive that back to the castle tonight, he decided. He suddenly felt exhausted and was glad the limo offered enough room for him to stretch out.

“Thanks,” he said quickly, before they were in earshot of the assistants hovering around the car. “For coming.” Lionel gave him a quick nod, not trusting himself to speak.

A flash of light caught their eyes, and Lex realized it was the black window of the limo being rolled down to expose the interior light. A familiar, exasperated voice said, “No, don’t touch that button either! Just leave them all alone!” and the window wound back up.

“Sounds like Dominic needs rescuing,” Lex observed dryly.

“I’m glad you remembered,” Lionel said suddenly, ignoring the change in subject.

Lex arched an eyebrow at him. “Would you have told me, if I hadn’t?”

Lionel started to assure him that yes, _of course_ , he would have told him, but he stopped himself. “No, I don’t think so,” he admitted, watching his son’s reaction carefully.

Lex turned away, then back, then shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now,” he decided. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
